


Consent

by toesohnoes



Category: The Perfect Host
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesohnoes/pseuds/toesohnoes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warwick decides what he wants if he wins the chess match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consent

**Author's Note:**

> Written at my [Tumblr](http://toestastegood-fic.tumblr.com/post/13414560842/he-likes-the-sight-of-his-art-work-on-johns-face). I adored this movie.

He likes the sight of his art-work on John’s face, so much so that he can hardly focus on the chess board between them.

It hardly matters, of course. The game is just a last-ditch effort for John to put off the inevitable - it won’t work. Warwick doesn’t lose. Not ever.

It’s an interesting intellectual exercise nonetheless, and he’s had such a good time tonight; it’s one of the best parties he’s ever had. He wonders if John would agree. There’s so much about John’s life that he doesn’t know, that he’ll never know. There’s so much there, and yet he doesn’t care to ask for the details. The past doesn’t matter to the life of the party.

“I’ve been thinking about what I want when I win,” he says. John only glances up briefly from the game. So inattentive. Warwick wouldn’t say anything to his face, but John had been a very ungracious guest. “I already have your life, remember?”

“Yeah,” John snorts. “It’s not like I’d forget.”

“You said you don’t have anything else to offer. That’s not quite true, is it?” Warwick smiles, slow and gentle, and something gets John to look up from the board, his eyes filled with apprehension. Warwick thinks that John still doesn’t understand that he could do anything to him; there’s no one here to stop him. No one cares. He could slit his throat or set him free, but in the long run the outcome doesn’t matter. “I want your consent. Please.”

John’s eyes are guarded and dubious as he looks up, showing nothing, giving nothing away. He would be one hell of a poker player. “Consent to what?” he asks.

Warwick smiles and moves his piece. “Anything. I’m going to kill you tonight, John, you know that. If I win the game, I’d like you to accept it without a fight.”

It’s unlikely to work like that, even if he wins. John has lied openly since the moment he turned up in this house; why would he stick to an arrangement like this? John takes a glance down at the board, and even if his face doesn’t show a thing he must like what he finds there. “Deal,” he says. “Now can we get on with this?”

“Certainly,” Warwick agrees. “I believe it’s your move.”

He’s looking forward to the end of the party even more than before.


End file.
